


Workin 9 to 5

by Hobbitsfeet



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A bullet hole though, Alternate Meeting, Costumes, Do not suck body parts with a vaccum, Flirty Text Messages, How could these not get mashed together?, M/M, No Angst, Outfits are leveled up because Sherlock is a clothes whore, RND photoshoot, Sherlock is happy and shocked, There’s no limp, This a complete wackadoo idea so just come along with me, discussion of frilly knickers, everyones happy, french maid, instantly enamoured, john is happy, just fluff and sex, red sole shoes, role playing...kinda, you know the ones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:48:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29464533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hobbitsfeet/pseuds/Hobbitsfeet
Summary: Less than two weeks apart we were gifted with Martin Freeman in a maid's costume and Benedict Cumberbatch sucking face with a vacuum. Somehow John Watson and Sherlock Holmes can't escape each other. Even in the universe of housekeeping.A special thanks tofireandhoney.for help with the French translations!!The title was only ever my working title, but then it just stuck so...
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	Workin 9 to 5

Workin’ 9 to 5

Sometimes John Watson, _Captain in the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers three years in Afghanistan, a veteran of Kandahar, Helmand, and Bart’s bloody Hospital._ wondered how he missed some of the signs posts that said his life was about to take a sharp turn. For example: how the hell did he go from saving the lives of soldiers in a desert to sitting in a cab wearing a partial French maid costume, on his way to 221B Bakers Street for the weekly cleaning service the tenant of the flat had requested. 

He had been invalided home to London at the end of the summer of last year and found it difficult to find a job that was not filled by a uni student on break. He applied for any business that said they might have an opening soon. From takeaway delivery to secretarial positions, he was willing to do anything to have a steady income. By November his savings had been completely depleted, and he was truly worried that he was going to have to live off beans and toast just to be able to make rent on his military pension. A couple of weeks before Christmas he received a phone call from a cleaning service called Busy Bee Cleaners. They said that if he could pass a background check, they could use the extra help during the holidays, and then see how it went in January. “If you pass the check, we will call you in 48 hours with your jobs. We’re pretty overrun right now, so do you think you could handle 3-4 jobs a day?” The person on the other end of the line asked. “Yeah. Absolutely. Great. Thank You.” was about all he could get out before the person said “Okay. Goodbye” and hung up on him. John’s first day was a doozy. He had not realized how much energy was exerted when cleaning a house for the holidays. Everyone seemed to believe the bloody Queen would be making a surprise visit and wanted deep cleanings from baseboards to ceiling tiles. The homeowners were never present, and he wondered what kind of security they had in their life to allow a stranger to clean their house unattended. Grateful for his medical and army training, he was able to blitz through his appointments quickly. Here was another signpost he missed. WILL STILL USE MEDICAL AND ARMY SKILLS BUT NOT THE ONES YOU THINK The pay was fairly decent, no longer feeling like he was teetering on the edge of poverty and transient. Finally able to take a deep breath. 

His first appearance at 221B, he had almost turned and ran. There was no way in hell he was going to be able to get all this mess cleared out. Mr. Holmes met him downstairs, in a burgundy housecoat, black trousers, and a hunter green button-down. John felt completely underdressed in soft worn jeans, and a “Busy Bee Cleaners'' polo shirt. _It's your uniform, you have to wear this on the first visit. Don’t get so discouraged. You’re here as a professional, not for a cup of tea and a chat._ “Good Afternoon, my name is John Watson, I am here for the cleaning you have scheduled at 11.” He said. “Yes, of course. Do come in.” Mr. Holmes’ voice replied in a deep baritone. _Holy fuck. That voice was molten sugar. Keep talking. I could listen to you list every church in London. Just let me hear you again. He is the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. I wouldn’t be surprised if his flat looked like Dracula’s castle. Is this what thrall was like? Settle the fuck down Watson._ Another sign post- THIS PERSON IS ABOUT TO CHANGE YOUR LIFE. TURN BACK NOW IF YOU MUST.

Mr. Holmes walked him through the rooms he would be expected to clean. He pointed out the basement flat- 221C. He let John know that he could store his belongings there, as well as all the cleaning supplies. They went down into the flat, and Mr. Holmes explained that 221 C had been the basement flat, but when the landlady decided that getting another tenant was a moot point, She let Mr. Holmes have it. There was a dehumidifier in one corner to control the damp, a floor-length mirror, a small settee with a side table, a cabinet where John could keep any personal items. There was a small supply of cleaning tools and sprays, and a few odds and ends of science equipment. The vacuum was kept in a hall closet up the stairs because it was old and heavy, but everything else would be in the small basement flat. On the main floor, he was to take care of the dusting, floors, general organization of books and papers. The main bathroom, and the kitchen dishes. Mr. Holmes told him that he need not worry about the counters and tables in the kitchen, nor his bedroom unless he requested a cleaning, for which he would pay extra. On the third floor was a minimally decorated bedroom, with a small powder room attached. The same cleaning routine applied to this room as the bedroom below. Mr. Holmes said that it was seldom used, so cleaning was rarely required. 

“Right, this all looks fairly simple. Would you like me to get started then?” John asked as they stood awkwardly in the blank space of the 3rd-floor room. Rocking on his feet back and forth. Mr. Holmes was an attractive and intimidating person to be standing next to. 

“By all means, please do. I will be in the kitchen if you have any questions. You may have to get my attention, I become quite focused when I am on a case.” Without another word, he quickly swept out of the room and down the stairs. Leaving John to look around the room quizzically. _A case? What does that even mean? What type of case? Medical? Police?”_ Trotting back down to C he gathered the supplies and got to work on trying to find the floor to the sitting room. Mr. Holmes was right. He had hardly moved from his microscope as John worked. Even when he took his lunch break, (convenient little sandwich shop attached to the building) and returned he had maybe moved a foot to the left. Silent the entire time. John worked on the bathroom and kitchen after lunch, moving around The man at the microscope, finishing around 2. “Ah, Mr. Holmes.” He said on the opposite side of the table. “Mr. Holmes?” _Was he really not hearing me? Is he ignoring me?_ Finally, John decided to just walk around to him and place his hand on Mr. Holmes’ shoulder and wait until he was acknowledged. It was less than a heartbeat when Mr. Holmes jumped at John’s touch. “Whoa, sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. Sorry. I just wanted to let you know that I am done for the day and set up for the next cleaning. Does next Friday, about the same time as today work for you?” 

“Hmm? Oh yes of course. Let me give you a set of keys, though I should be here every time. In case something interesting has arisen.” 

John Smirked, the words out of his mouth before he blinked “We just met, and I already get keys to your flat? How lucky can one guy get?.” The colour in Mr. Holmes’ cheeks rose, a small bashful smile in his eyes and on his lips. 

“I’m only pulling your leg. I’d need dinner at the least, before considering a move.” 

“Hmm, well maybe next time then,” Sherlock replied, gears in his brain coming back online to reply. John smiled, and Mr. Holmes shook his hand and walked him out the door. 

On his way to the tube station, John couldn’t help but wonder what he was getting into with this man. _Next time? Did he really just accept and offer dinner? Technically *technically* was Mr. Holmes was his employer...Well, there is some Secretary fantasy fuel right there... but also, was this going a bit too far? Let’s not get too cocky Watson. Just having a bit of fun with the hot customer…_ He was early enough in the evening that he was able to find a seat, and as he sat at the end of the bench, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Pulling it out, he read on the lock screen, from an unknown number

S: “Which was it – Afghanistan or Iraq -SH”

J: I’m sorry who is this? 

S“Sherlock Holmes, who else could it be? Are you that popular to receive text messages from just anyone? You didn’t receive a single message while you were in my flat, and I am the most recent person you have had direct contact with, so who else would you assume is messaging you in the afternoon, from an unknown number, having just left a flat less than 20 minutes ago? -SH”

He lost reception in the carriage before he had time to respond. However, it did give him time to formulate a response. _How did he know about Afghanistan?_ By the time the train reached his station on the far East side of London, he went with a simple message.

J: Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know ...?

S: “I know you’re an Army doctor and you’ve been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you’ve got a brother who’s worried about you but you won’t go to him for help because you don’t approve of him – possibly because he’s an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. -SH” J: How could you possibly know all that?” Mr. Holmes' text stopped him dead in his tracks, just outside the station. Someone hit his shoulder walking past. “Oi, watch it mate.” the man said grumpily walking past. “Sorry!” John yelled back. He leaned his back on the brick wall, waiting for a response. There was no way he was going to be able to do anything until he texted back. S: “I didn’t know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. From your review on the Busy Bee website, it says that you are meticulous in how you clean homes. “Precise” “Extremely focused” “hospital corners'' etc etc. precision as only a man trained to be such could be. Years of practise that has become so ingrained, it is a habit. So, army doctor. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You’ve been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your left shoulder hitches when you raise or lower it. However, you try to ignore it. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq. -SH” 

S: “Then there’s your brother. Your phone. It’s expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you took the first job that would hire you. – you wouldn’t waste money on this. It’s a gift, then. Scratches. Not one, many over time. It’s been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn’t treat his one luxury item like this, so it’s had a previous owner. Next bit’s easy. You know it already. -SH”

J: The engraving. _How fast can this man type? I barely have time to read before he has typed a whole other paragraph._

Sherlock fired off another round of texts confirming that John's sibling was indeed a drunk whose marriage had ended. J: That was…Amazing.

S: “Do you think so? -SH”

J: Of _course_ it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary.

S: “That's not what people normally say. -SH”

J: What do people normally say?

S: “Piss Off. -SH”

S: “Did I get anything wrong? -SH”

J: Close. So very close. 

J: Harry is short for Harriet.

S: “Your sister! I have to quit underestimating lesbians. -SH”

J: Nor should you trust a Sicilian when death is on the line”

S: “And what would be the evidence for that? -SH

J: What?! Please tell me you have seen The Princess Bride???

S: “Can’t say that I have. -SH”

J: OH, do I have some homework for you!

S: “What? Update myself on pop culture reference? Boring.-SH”

John laughed out loud and continued his walk to his flat. _Sexy and funny. I don’t stand a chance._ Their teasing and flirty texts continue the rest of the evening and throughout the weekend. Their week seemed busy, either with John’s work or Mr. Holmes being on cases which John finally understood about him being on _cases_. When on the said case his texts came at completely random times, with no rhyme or reason behind them. 

S: “The sapphire was found on the scale of Lady Justice that sits atop the Old Bailey.-SH”

J: If you’re texting this late, I hope it's for something worthwhile. 

J: Do you ever sleep?

“Not usually when I am on a case. -SH”

J: I would love to chat with you some more, but I have to go clean this poncy buggers flat tomorrow. You should see how much paper he has. 

S: “How droll, John. Good Night. -SH”

J: Good night. I am glad that I will get a chance to see you tomorrow.

S: “You’re supposed to be sleeping. -SH” 

John was only mildly surprised when Mr. Holmes asked if he spoke French (“Enough for everyday conversation, not enjoying to be a UN translator”) and only slightly more surprised by the proposition Mr. Holmes offered before he left. He had asked if -for extra pay- John would be willing to participate in an experiment that would include a costume of his (Mr. Holmes) choosing. That it would be a long term experiment, for he was collecting multiple points of data. If at any given time John began to feel uncomfortable with the situation, all he had to do was let him know, and it would stop immediately. Thinking _What's the worst that could happen?_ John agreed. 

S: “Do you think you would wear a women's medium or large?- SH”

J: In what? 

J: Also, good evening. 

S: “In costumes. -SH”

J: erm…as shocking as it might sound, I know nothing about women’s clothing sizes. I do however wear 30x29 in trousers and small or mediums in tops. Does that help?

S: “Good enough to be going on. -SH” 

J: Do I get to see what you pick? 

S: “Of course. It will be waiting for you when you arrive on Friday.”

When he returned the following week, he found a cheap french maid Halloween costume and heels of similar quality in 221C with a note that said, ‘If you’d oblige’. John changed, and looked at his reflection in the mirror with a look of ‘what the hell?’ The skirt came to mid-thigh and was a cheap satin that shined bright in the mirror. The heels were not much better, and he wondered how the hell he was going to be able to clean the flat in the vinyl things. Especially with the rounded toe with what seemed like an ankle slaying platform rocker. _How in the hell am I supposed to clean the flat in these?_ He left his black boxer briefs on, because no pants had been provided, and if he was going to go ass over tit in front of Mr. Holmes, this would not be the way he was going to see everything John had to offer. John grabbed his cleaning supplies and wobbled up the stairs like a newborn Bambi. 

He did not end up breaking his ankles, but it did take much longer to do his usual routine. Mr. Holmes was not home, so he was able to clean the kitchen thoroughly. He knew not to bin anything dubious-looking and worked around the stray body parts to clean the fridge. _When did that become part of my normal life? At least in the fridge, you could *almost* forget that they were once apart of a- NOPE. Don’t go down that rabbit hole. You might just end up a loudmouth vegan._ Almost 3 hours later, Stopping for lunch which he ate while sitting in the red plaid armchair, Across from Mr. Holmes’ leather one, John was done. He left a note for Mr. Holmes. _Not sure what data you’re collecting when you’re not even here. These shoes are horrendous_. He left them on the desk in the living room, with the note stuck inside. John was limping with heated blisters forming on his heels. The heated pain on the balls of his feet from the extreme bodyweight shift. He was very grateful that he didn’t have to come back for a week, hopefully giving himself time to heal. Later that night, he received a text. 

S: “I apologise that those shoes were inappropriate. I will amend that for next week. I also apologise for not being here. I thought you might want to get used to your new costume. -SH”

J: “It’s not the worst thing I have worn for a job, so I would not have minded, but ta for the consideration. And the shoes were bloody awful.” 

S: “Not the worst costume? -SH” 

J: “Nah, at uni we all had to take turns as our rugby team’s mascot. Which meant spending time in a squirrel costume, whose giant head smelt of beer and vom.” 

S: “Hmm. I will have to keep that in mind. -SH”

J: “Give me your best shot.”

S: “Be careful what you wish for, John Watson. -SH” 

J: “Is that a promise, or a challenge, Mr. Holmes?”

S: “Please, only Mr. Holmes when you are here and ready to work. Sherlock any other time. -SH”

J: “Alright. Excellent dodge on my question though.”

S: “I want you to speak French when you are here. Only French. - SH” 

J: “Comme tu veux.” 

S:“"Très bien, John. J'ai hâte d'entendre ces mots sortir de ta délicieuse bouche. -SH” 

J: “Oh. Beautiful, hmm?” John felt giddy, there were no other words to describe it. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had taken interest in him, let alone *flirt*. He would do this all night if he could. He also could not believe that this was Sherlock Holmes replying. The world’s most poncy and arrogant consulting detective. Especially one with the most dangerous cheekbones and eyes that shifted like lagoon waters. 

S: “Obviously. -SH”

J: “What else do you find so “obviously” beautiful about me, then?” He was grinning like a mad fool when he pressed send.

S: “You will see. -SH”

J: Sherlock, you are a bloody tease!

S:“"Bonne nuit, bel homme. Fais de beaux rêves. -SH”

Week by week the costume was tweaked, adding or substituting items as Necessary. Eventually, there was the addition of a sexy as hell, most likely triple the cost of the previous maid outfit, with a petticoat, apron, and detached cuffs, followed by a suspender belt and stockings. The pieces were becoming more extravagant. The most recent of which came after his job was done and he was in C getting changed. He noticed a wardrobe box on the small table with a note that said “Take home and practice. Wear next week -SH” it was a black satin corset. What seemed to be a heavy-duty one at that. John read the tag that came with the item. _How exactly am I meant to put this on myself?? What is spiral steel? I see youtube tutorials in my future._

BLACK WAIST TRAINING OVERBUST CORSET

This magnificent black satin waist training underbust corset is made with the strongest spiral steel boning for the ultimate waist reduction and body shaping experience. It offers a potential 5" reduction in waist size when laced at its tightest and is one of our elite range of waist training corsets. It can be worn either as an undergarment or as the centrepiece to an outfit. If you are unsure about waist training or have any questions, do not hesitate to contact us for advice.

Style:Regular Length,Overbust

Corset Features: Cord Lacing,Hip Gores,Steel Busk

Colour: Black

Achievable Waist Reduction: 4-5"

Sweetheart Bustline

Fully Adjustable Structured Corset with Criss Cross Lacing

Front and Back Modesty Panel

Strong Corset Cord Lacing

Strong Waist Tape

6 suspender loops & 4 bra loops

Outer Material: 100% Polyester

Lining: 100% Cotton Twill

18 x 7mm Spiral Steel Bones, 4 x 7mm Flat Steel Bones

Busk Length: 13" (Corset Size 26"-38")

John put the corset in his knapsack and headed home. 

S: “Have you done what I asked? -SH”

J: uhhmm.. Nonononono...Not quite yet. I met a friend at the pub, and am heading home. A bit tipsy.

S: “I am not sure how well it will fit if you struggle with the bloat from beer. -SH”

J: I am offensd! I am hurt! Sorrow fills my chest to think that Sherlock Holmes would believe that *I* John Watson, ex-Army Captain would suffer something so plebeian as “beer bloat”. I have abs chiseled from the GODS!” John had stopped his walk home and with the dizzy of the light-headed buzz fired off a text faster than he could even consider what he was saying. After he pressed send he tried reading what he typed and just sniggered to himself. _Maybe a bit more than tipsy then_

S: “John, do you know your closest intersection? I am sending a cab to you. You should not be walking home in the state you are in as indicated by that text message. -SH”

J: Oh Sherly. Sherloooovk. Gorgeous fucking sherlock. Shercock… I am just outside my flat. Two flights of stair and I am home freeeee! Best part about London- a pub on every corner!”

S: “Well then. Get upstairs and do as I asked. -SH”

J: Oh, bossy pants. 

J: I like it. 

J: hah just tried to used your keys to get into my flat. THat won’t work! 

J: THis very pretty. My chest will looks sadly pathetic in these cups though. Will you still enjoy my sadly pathetic chest?

S: “Most assuredly. -SH”

J: YouTube is my tutor. This front piece is tricksy. 

J: I think I got it. Sherlock, I hope you appreciate what I do for you. THis is taking more conscentration that I currently have.

J: Well it is not as bad as I anticipates. 

S: “I promise you, I will appreciate it. -SH”

J: yeah. You should see this. It looks prettg yood. I imagine it will look better witheverytihng else.

S: “Do I get to see?-SH?

J: Of course. It. I. It. will be waiting for you when I arrive on Friday

S: “I don’t believe that is fair play, Watson.-SH

S: “I want you to wear this every day for the next week. You need to break it in so that you are still able to work on Friday. Wear it to your comfort. There is no need for it to be tight enough to obstruct your breathing. However, it still needs to be tight enough that it gives a slight waist reduction. Is that understood?” -SH”

J: Understood, Sir

S: “Good. -SH”

On Friday, The taxi pulled up to the curb, and let John out. Since the costume had been added to his cleaning routine, he had stopped taking the tube, in favour of the cab. It just made the journey far less anxiety-inducing. He threw his knapsack over the shoulder of the long coat that hid his costume. With jeans and loafers, no one would be all the wiser that he wore back-seam fine fishnet thigh highs and a black suspender belt set that cost as much as his bedsit. The week of wearing the corset had done well to break it in. He was able to comfortably do most activities with zero discomforts. Cleaning the loos was not that pleasant, but when is it ever? By Thursday he had even been able to take it in a little bit more. He paid the cabbie, and headed to the door, his stomach flip-flopping with excitement. This signpost he saw. Hell, he planted it himself. TODAY IS A CARPE DIEM SORT OF DAY. DON'T WASTE IT.

John opened the door to 221, with the keys Mr. Holmes had given him, and headed down to flat C, to get the rest of his costume and cleaning supplies. Once inside he removed his exterior disguise, to reveal his work uniform. He wore the corset and hose, as they took the longest to put on. To the lingerie, he added a fluffy white petticoat, skirt, and apron. Looking around the room, he realized that he couldn't find the simple black pumps that he normally left here, feeling the disappointing panic that hit his stomach when he thought he somehow had brought them home. He noticed a craft paper box with its signature“Louboutin” in white across that sat atop the table near the settee. John sat down to admire the shoes. Unwrapping them gently as if they would break, he pulled out one than the other, and slid them onto his feet, admiring the pair of red-soled black heels that most women would kill for. They made his feet feel dainty. Not that he had larger feet to begin with, but the curve of the foot was very appealing. His ankles seemed small in the stockings. He stood nervously, worried about the slope of shoes. They made him stand up taller, thrusting his ass further out and into the air. His calves and thighs looked carved from stone at the effort of staying perched. He felt wicked and felt his confidence soar looking himself over in his complete outfit. A lace and velvet headpiece and choker. The black satin corset with its spiral steel boning and steel front busk, that nipped his waist just enough to make a difference, but not enough to restrict his work. The black tutu with the full petticoat that teasingly displayed his ass and the edges of the lace knickers. Black and white lace apron that tied at his slim waist and crossed in the back, accentuating his strong soldier shoulders and back. A scapula framed on each side, his gunshot wound seeming to be the paramount piece of an art gallery, highlighted in the frame of black and white lace. Agent Provocateur suspender belt, knickers, and fine silk mesh thigh highs with their back seam, now completed with the most deadly pair of shoes he would ever own. His entire wardrobe was not worth the amount he was sure he was wearing. The knowledge that Mr. Holmes had picked every piece for him, had his cheeks turning pink and his heart pounding in his chest, anticipating the look on his face when he saw the whole kit and caboodle. Making sure his suspenders were securely attached to the top of the stockings and that the back seams were straight, John grabbed his bucket of cleaning supplies and climbed the stairs to the upstairs flat. 

The door was closed, which was not abnormal, but it seldom happened. He wondered if Mr. Holmes was involved in an extensive experiment. Knocking quickly he said, "Bonjour M. Holmes. Je suis John Watson, des services de nettoyage Busy Bees." As routine. He waited for a moment before he heard “Entrez”. John opened the door, to see Mr. Holmes sitting in his leather chair, eyes closed, fingers templed under his nose. _Well posed, Holmes._ He slowly walked into the center of the room, heels click-clacking on the hardwood floor. As he set his bucket down on the ground, Sherlock slowly opened his eyes to look at him. He panned from the heels to calves to thighs, thin waist, strong arms, chest and shoulders, strong jaw, and distinctly John facial features. John felt every moment of Sherlock’s gaze like the warmth of a sunbeam moving across the room. When they locked eyes, he saw a predatory, hungry look in Sherlock's eyes. They had gone from the blue-green of stormy ocean waters to the grey-blue clouds that brought the tempest to the sea. John worried at his bottom lip, the intensity of the moment drawing the time out into a glacial pace. Mr. Holmes let out a huff of a breath, making John suck in a breath that he didn’t realize he had been missing. “Retournez-vous.” Sherlock said softly. John listened and turned to face the damask wallpaper. Doing what he could to amplify the view, arching his back just a bit more. Behind him, he heard the faintest groan “Putain”, followed by throat clearing. “Et bien, ne restez pas là, M. Watson. Allez, mettez-vous au travail! Je serai dans la cuisine.” With that he stood and left the room, but not before witnessing John bend at the waist, fully exposing his lace-covered ass, to get his bucket of cleaning supplies. “Bien sûr, M. Holmes.” he said to get Mr. Holmes’ attention. Sherlock let out a harsh grunt and had to adjust himself before sitting at his work table. He had only been able to sneak a few glances at him while he worked in the sitting room. Though he did stare, slack-jawed when John climbed up a little step stool to dust the upper bookshelves. The heels were amazing and made his calves and thighs look etched in marble within a shroud of stockings and suspenders that lead a direct line to John’s pert ass, swathed in black lace and frill. His arms above him, wiping down the shelves made his shoulders roll in waves of muscle and bone. Simply gorgeous. Sherlock had been so lost in his mind, that he hadn’t even noticed that John was looking at him amused, with a slight blush rising on his cheeks. Knowing he was caught in his indulgence, Sherlock said nothing and went back to his microscope. Without looking up, he asked John to tidy up the room upstairs, as he was expecting an overnight guest. “ "M. Watson, j'attends un invité pour la nuit et je souhaite que la chambre soit nettoyée.“John agreed and trotted up the stairs, giving Sherlock another look at his exquisite legs and ass as he went. So far John had willingly agreed to his ‘experiment’ wholeheartedly, Was cheeky and flirtatious, and yet he still found himself keeping his distance. Wondering what it would take to make his advance, Sherlock had one other ridiculous idea up his sleeve. 

John was cleaning the upstairs guest room and half bath of 221B when he heard the familiar sound of Mr. Holmes’ old heavy-duty vacuum. _What is he up to now?_ He wondered. It kept starting and stopping in inconsistent intervals, almost as if he was stopping it with his hand. Next, a funny screech like wind leaching through a crack in a seal and a strangled grumble, that was very close to the verge of panic. John knew that meant that Mr. Holmes had gotten something stuck in the hose, and he prayed that it wasn’t what normal men might get stuck. He walked downstairs and saw him sitting at the kitchen table through the doorway. John stopped at the bottom of the stairs trying so hard not to laugh at the brilliant mad man who was struggling to pull away from the vacuum hose which had sucked in his lips and skin. _What a berk. What was he even trying to do? That mouth though..._ “What in the bloody hell do you think you’re doing, Sherlock? Christ.” Mr. Holmes grunted and pointed at the switch in the back of the barrel. 

“Fine, fine. But you know, most boys figure this out as teens.” He said giving a chuckle. As John bent over to flip the machine off, he noticed Mr. Holmes staring at him pointedly again. Intense and almost overwhelming. His corset was cut low, in a sweetheart neck, which arched just over his nipples and accentuated his pecs. The halter fit of the apron exposed his gunshot wound along with his defined shoulders and biceps. He stood up, deliberately crossing his arms, flexing his biceps just a bit, and stared right back. 

Sherlock lowered the hose from his lips, swallowing hard at John standing in front of him, with his lips slightly red and swollen. John looked at them, then quickly up to meet his gaze, but unconsciously he licked his lips. He cleared his throat and asked “Can I have a closer look? To make sure you didn’t cause any damage?” _So I have an excuse to touch your face. Your lips. Your hair. Anything._ Sherlock nodded slightly. John stepped over the hoover and stood in front of Sherlock, while Sherlock spread his legs for John to stand between them before he realised what he was doing. John was so close to him. Probably more close than necessary, but he didn’t mind. With the high heels on, Sherlock’s head sat right at John’s chest. Cautiously John held Sherlock’s chin with one hand, turning his face side to side, analysing and trying to maintain his professional doctor persona as best he could with Sherlock’s intense eyes boring into him, and his body pressed so closely. Licking his lips again, he softly rubbed the pad of his thumb across Sherlock’s bottom lip and then back again. Sherlock’s eyes closed half-lidded, and he inhaled a sharp breath. John repeated the action across his top lip, the velvet softness of his lips, begging to be nipped and sucked. John slid his thumb down the center of Sherlock’s lips, dragging his bottom lip open, Sherlocks teeth were open, and grazed them across the pad of his thumb. 

With the same gentleness, Sherlock had begun to rub his fingertips along the seam of the stockings on the backs of John’s thighs. Reaching the point where ass meets leg and then back down again. John ran his hands through Sherlock’s curls, and Sherlock moved further up, palming John’s cheeks. John grabbed at Sherlock’s hair, pulling his neck back a bit, so he too grabbed John’s ass, kneading the skin and muscles in his hands. “You’re ass is delectable in this costume.” Sherlock said aloud, squeezing again. “mmm, fuck” John said under his breath, looking down at Sherlock, who smiled a mischievous grin at him. “If that’s where this is leading, then by all means, please keep going.” With that, John bent over to kiss him softly, hands still entangled in the mess of curls. Sherlock grabbed the backs of John’s thighs, forcing him to hook his legs over Sherlock’s thighs and into his lap- losing all of his height advantages. The kiss intensified, as Sherlock’s hands roamed John’s exposed skin. John kept his hands gripped in Sherlock’s hair. Amazed and how soft the mess of curls was. Sitting up taller, John broke the kiss, leaning and arching his back, pressing his groin harder into Sherlock's lap. This action exposed his neck to Sherlock who took the subtle cue to nip and suck up one side and the other. Just at the base of his neck Sherlock bit John and sucked a growing purple mark. Moaning just a bit and pulling John as close as he could. John could feel Sherlock’s erection through his pyjama bottoms, his own beginning to strain against the lace underwear he was still wearing. He wrapped his legs around the back legs of the chair hooking the heels to the metal to rut against Sherlock. He felt as if he was giving him a lap dance, still contained in his maid costume the frills covered the view of their clothing bound bucking. Sherlock was ruthless in the plunder of John's throat and jawline and back to his mouth again, causing whimpers and soft moans to spring from John. Sherlock whispered in John’s ear in his low baritone “ Viens dans ma chambre et laisse-moi te ravir complètement. Je n'ai pas voulu faire autre chose depuis le moment où nous nous sommes rencontrés.” and suckled on his lobule. All John could do was shiver at the promise and nod in approval. He unwrapped his legs from the chair And stood to a straddle above Sherlock. Sherlock’s head fell against the steel busk of the corset and held John’s narrow waist. He moved his hands and used his nails to scratch up the sides of John’s thigh, curving to then hold his hip bones. Sherlock kissed his way down the corset and used his nose to duck under the layers of lace. John groaned and bucked at the feeling of Sherlock’s hot breath on his groin. “Ooo..Mr. Hol-“ John said, the end of the word bitten off with a hard gruff of air. The Pressure of Sherlock’s tongue running up the underside of John’s erection jailed in the mesh and lace, kissing the tip as drops of precome interlaced with the knickers. He came up again softly saying in English “you have no idea what you do to me, John Watson. He pushed John back- who moved on quivering legs. _Women deserve bloody awards for all the work it takes to stay upright in heels. Bloody gold medals._ John thought as Sherlock took his hand in led him to the bedroom. John had only been in here once before, never having the room on his cleaning list. The one time it was, John Swore he could smell burnt pork and hair lingering in the air and decided to ask no questions about the matter because he really really did not want to know. 

Though it was still mid-afternoon, the room was dim, with the darkness of clouds that suggested a thunderstorm was brewing. It was sparse and well organised compared to the rest of the flat. Sherlock turned to face John as soon as the door closed behind him. He crowded into John’s space until he was pinned to the door with Sherlock’s hips and thighs. Sherlock grabbed John’s wrists and held them above his head with one hand. The other hand reaching down into the corset, finding his right nipple to tease into a little pebble of desire. He did the same with his left side. Staring directly into his eyes. His voice leaving ghost kisses on John’s lips he said; “I want to taste you. Right here, against the door. Then I want to lay you on the bed, your wickedly beautiful body displayed just for me. I want to spread your legs over my shoulders and feel them quake as I eat you out, preparing you until you’re just on the edge, and then I will push my cock into you so slowly you will feel like you will go mad if you wait any longer. And when you are lost to oblivion I want to come some deep inside you that you will be thinking of me for days. And years to come, with a shiver every time you remember this moment..” Sherlock finished his plan of action with kisses down John’s neck and shoulder. He wrapped his arms around John's waist, circling his hips into John’s pelvis. Teasing at John's lips with his tongue. “Oh, god yes.” John said in a huskier voice than he intended. Given his permission, Sherlock untied the apron bow at the base of Johns’s spine, sitting right on top of his ass. The straps slid down John’s arms and dropped it to the floor. He then sank to his knees, and lifted the skirt and petticoat, to see John properly for the first time. His erection was pushed to the side in the black lace, the head of it trying to push out of the top. He groaned and licked his lips, lifted the skirts, hiding back under their cover again. 

The lack of visualisation made every subtle movement from Sherlock explosive with goose flesh and shivers through his body. John’s hands hand no ability to gain traction against the door, causing all his tension to go straight to his groin. Sherlock teased between John’s legs. Huffing hot breath and nips on his inner thighs. Just at the edge of the panty line. He slid his hands between the pants and John’s ass, kneading and prying apart the cheeks and bringing his fingertips painfully close to the knot of sensitive flesh. He mouthed John's cock, trapped by the lace, coming to the tip, he lowered the knickers just enough to expose John's head and suck it lightly. John bucked sharply and the contact. “Fuuuck” he hissed. Sherlock moved out from under the skirts and looked back up at John. “Fuck Sherlock...geezus”. He said with a shiver. Grinning, Sherlock removed the skirts, easing them down John’s micro net clad legs. Gingerly picking up John’s feet at the ankles to fully remove the skirt. He touches the upper arch of John’s foot and asks-” How are these heels? I know they are expensive, but...” he says running his hands around John’s calves. “They do astounding things to your legs.” Ending the question with his hands flat above John’s knees, John’s hand resting in Sherlock’s hair, and looked up again into John’s eyes. “They’re good. Yeah. Great.” John clears his throat. “Maybe a full product review later?” John chuckles. Sherlock shrugged “Alright”. And then pulled down John’s pants faster than John could ever process. Releasing his now fully erect cock with a small bounce. Sherlock leaned back a bit onto his upturned feet. “Mmmm yes fucking perfect,” he said. Then, “Oh for god sakes, John rest your hands. I don’t care where they are. You will still be the most completely fucking gorgeous thing on this planet. Then John had a place for his hands- he covered his face with them both and hit his head to the door. He could feel his ears flaming red. Sherlock used this moment to take hold of John’s cock, licking the head of it a few times before taking it into his mouth. John looked back down at Sherlock, the sight of this brilliant man taking his cock in and out of his mouth John's hands found the back of Sherlock's head luxuriating into the feeling, moaning as he continued to watch the man on his knees... Sherlock bounced further down John’s cock his mouth moving up...down....updown, changing the rhythm as he saw fit. Eventually, he took him to the hilt. He looked up at John, his chin brushing his public hair. John looked down at him at the halt of the motion. _That mouth. That fucking fucking mouth._ He shuddered and skidded down the door a bit. Sherlock moved and watched as John’s thighs quaked, trying to hold himself up while still in the 5-inch heels. He helped John stand and said, “Have a seat on the bed. I think we will need a moment if we are to get through all that I have planned.” John sat, and Sherlock looked down at him, kissing John chastely. Turning his back to John to remove his clothes, he started with the dark blue silk robe he was wearing. He hung it on the hook next to the others. Next He deliberately, slowly, removed his soft cornflower blue T-shirt over his head, Letting John see all the muscles in his back inch by inch. He heard a low moan behind him. He pulled the shirt off quickly and looked behind him. Seeing John, legs spread on the edge of the bed in the corset and thigh highs and heels, leaning on his left hand on the top of the footboard, right hand wrapped loosely on his cock, lazily stroking up and down. “Mmmm that’s good.” Sherlock’s voice dripping slowly from his mouth like honey. Facing John he slowly pulled the string to untie the grey-blue silk pyjama bottoms already sitting so low they actually seemed to be suspended simply by his hard cock. He stepped out of the bottoms and looks squarely at John. Stroking his hands down his chest. Palming his cock, giving it a twist as John’s hand started to speed up on his own erection.

John watched Sherlock undress, enjoying the tease of his motions. The blue robe was beautiful against his pale skin, amplifying his piercing eyes. John enjoyed his camel and burgundy robe, but the blue was his favourite. He relaxed into the moment and let himself start caressing his cock. One twist as Sherlock purposefully removed his tee. Exposing back dimples, taut skin over back and shoulder muscles. It was impossible to stifle his moan at the sight. Sherlock turned around to look at him, and the sight was even better. His hand gripped his cock tighter, looking at Sherlock’s chest. How he hid all of this beauty under his well-cut suits was almost a shame. He was slender but firm. Solid arms and pecks, with just the hint of abdominal definition, downy hairs sparse across his chest down to the trail to his pubic hair that was exposed by barely held pyjamas. The low riding pants gave a delicious sight of Sherlock’s curved hip bones. All three trails pointing directly to his still hidden cock. John’s head lulled back and forward as his ministrations sped up. “Fuuuuck. God, Sherlock. How are you the way you are?” Sherlock smiled, loosening the string of his pants and letting them slide down. John licked his lips finally getting a chance to take in the full sight of him, completely at a loss of words. Sherlock gave a twist of his prick and stepped forward. 

Sherlock stepped up to the footboard of the bed, with one padded ledge that came to his knees, and one a little further down. He reached his hand across John’s lap to John’s hands to stop his motions. John slowed to a stop with a studded breath. He bent to the side to hold John’s head sideways, giving him a deep slow kiss. Sherlock licked the curve up John’s ear and said to him “Crawl to the headboard.”. “Yes Mr. Holmes.“ John Says, this time making Sherlock shudder with a slight growl. John rolled over to his hands and knees and crawled luxuriously, the sway of his ass overemphasised, the back straps of the garter belt rubbing side to side against his ass. Sherlock hummed in approval. “Good boy. Now lay down with your knees up and spread and place your upper body any way that is comfortable for you. Once John was settled (with one arm resting on the busk of his corset, and the other in his hair. _Good. He found a good place for them this time._ ) Sherlock thought with a wicked grin. He crossed the bed in one large slide like a Jaguar sneaking through tall grass, knees coming to rest right at John’s ass. Sherlock was tall when he stood on his knees. He almost seemed taller this way. Leaning over John, with a cushion of space between bodies, he kissed him once more. This kiss was long and lingering building the desire between them. John’s hips humping the air wanting just any sort of friction. Sherlock backed out of the kiss with a couple of small pecks placed on to John’s face. He licked the tip of his tongue across John’s lips playfully. John rose his head, playing the game. He grabbed Sherlock’s bottom lip in a light grip and began sucking. _How did he already know that Sherlock loved that move?_ The snog lasted days and days. Or 10 seconds. Both at the same time forever and instantaneous. Before Sherlock noticed he had been sucked down into the heat of John’s body. Their hips rutting together with the slightly damp friction, in tandem with their kiss. Sherlock was lifting his upper body with John following like a fish on a hook. Sherlock pinned John’s chest down with his hands. “Whoa whoa. Wait.” He says sweetly. John dropped his head to the pillow annoyed with Sherlock’s constant pauses. Sherlock rolled his eyes at him. “The list John. This was not on this list. The next round, absolutely, but now I believe it is time for me to ravage your ass.“ 

Sherlock stretched his legs out from under him. John lifted up from the pillow again, resting on his forearms, before having his arms pulled out from him at what he saw. . “A cock in front of your face is absolutely the most sinful image I could ever imagine.” John said. Sherlock smiled with a ‘just you wait’ sort of impishness. He pushed John’s thighs apart and up a bit, exposing his hole to the chill air. Sherlock started with a kiss on the head of his cock. And deep throating it in a fail swoop, John arched his back, not even considering how Sherlock would feel. “Aahhhhhh shit. Sorry. That was ohhhh” Sherlock sucked off with a pop, and lowered his tongue to John’s balls, taking one than the other in his mouth, incentivized by every moan and curse he could wrench from John’s lips. He continued further down, gently lapping at John’s hole with his flat tongue. John’s ass clenched and his whole body shivered into the touch. Sherlock blew cold air across his body, then continued to lap and suck at his asshole, toying with it when he formed his tongue into a bullet shape. Probing lightly with his tongue, he started to slide it into John’s asshole. “Aaagguuuh..uuff” John huffed “Yessss please.. More” Sherlock slid his hands up the bed to clasp John’s. He rippled and rolled his tongue once he was able, loosening John’s asshole with each bolt. Sherlock hooked his arms around John’s hips pulling even closer, his long fingers wrapped around the base of John’s cock. John’s hitched his legs over Sherlock’s shoulders, locking his heels together, fucking Sherlock’s face. He had never had this before and ohhh fuck how he could have this man eat his ass with fervor and ride his face to the brink of oblivion. If he was saying words he didn’t know. His cock so hard he was leaking onto his stomach and suspender belt. “Fuck Sherlock. Please. Oh god. How. You. Fuck. I’m so close Sherlock please.” He begged for release. Sherlock looked up at John writhing on the edge of one plane and the next. Sitting up again on his knees, he rubbed their cocks together slicking himself up from his own saliva and John’s precome. John’s focus drifted in and out his thoughts wandering around oblivion. When Sherlock kissed him again he felt like a roller coaster car coming back to its station. A kiss on his neck. Every point of John’s being was vibrating with need. Sherlock looked into his eyes, hand caressing his cheek. Waiting until John was able to focus on him. “You are doing so good luv. You’re so beautiful. So beautiful. Sherlock whispers between kisses. “You’re so close, aren’t you, sweet thing. So ready.” John’s head tilted into the cradle of Sherlock's hand, Nodding. “Alright then. Let’s go” He kissed John one more time, and. lifted back up, in between John’s knees. He sucked two fingers into his mouth, wetting them. He slid them into John’s partially stretched asshole, twisting and scissoring them, being careful not to stimulate his prostate. John started to wriggle against him seeking more. Sherlock pressed in one more finger once again stretching him just a bit more. Sherlock reached behind him, to grab the small packet of lube that he had left on the footboard. He warmed the packet in his hands before lubricating himself a bit more. Next, he took his cock in hand to level with John’s ass. He pushed his head on slowly, giving John a chance to experience and relax. John’s hands were on his thighs, so Sherlock placed his hands over, interlacing their fingers slightly. 

So slow. Sherlock worked himself into John so wickedly so slow. It was beautiful and excruciating. “Ahhh oooosherrrll” “Relax John. It will be worth it, I promise, just breathe into it. Lightly, he wrapped one hand around John’s flagging erection, working at it as he started rocking backward and forwards, in and out. Stroked, up and down, kicking up his pace and depth as John relaxed around him. Eventually, he had John stretched wide enough for deep thrusts, John’s legs thrown across Sherlock’s shoulders, heels kicking Sherlock’s back, paced with his thrusts. John’s chest wash flushed, Sherlock, holding his hips in place. Over and over. He could feel John’s muscles fighting around him knocking Sherlock off his pattern. “So good John. Fuck.” Sherlock grunted out. “Aahhhhh” He took John's legs and wrapped them around his waist. He moved down, kissed John, and then clung to him chest to chest. He kissed John as he thrust deep. John’s legs pushing against his ass pushing harder when Sherlock pushed in. Sherlock fucked and kissed him like he was aching for this moment. Wanting to savour it before it fled. He filled every moment with a tortured passion, breaking the kiss when the need for air became overwhelming. John’s cock had been pinned between them, rubbing against their sweaty lower abdomens. He was hard and leaking from the intense friction. Sherlock slowed to snail’s pace, scooping his thrusts to hit John’s prostate. Once. Twice. And John was coming with a silent wail and then grunts and huffs, and a long hard push against Sherlock’s cock, wanting him deeper and deeper in his ass. Sherlock’s rhythm was completely blown. He wrapped his arms under John’s shoulders and clung to him. Deep breathing and grunting into John’s neck. He pushed John further onto his cock. Sherlock’s feet pushing against the footboard. As deep as he could get. He held John powerfully, tightly thrusting quickly as he came. Pulsing into John’s ass, spurt after spurt. Sherlock buried his head down at the crook of John’s neck and bit hard into his deep moan and grunts. “Joohhhhnn” he cries out coming to a still with a shiver. He thrusts one more time before he floated back into his body like a leaf, and relaxed completely on top of John.

John finds himself again as Sherlock is pushing his cock into him with uncontrolled thrusts. He can feel Sherlock’s cock pumping and spurting into his ass. Two big long flexes and Sherlock is spent, collapsing on top of him, both of them breathing hard. John relaxed with Sherlock who seemed to be moving a bit slower. Sherlock did his best to pull out as gently as he could, but John still winced a bit as he slid out. Sherlock’s come following behind him. He rolls off of John, trapping John’s right arm beneath his neck. They both breathed deeply to catch their breath and slow their heart rate. Sherlock rolled to his side, throwing his long leg across John’s thighs. His arm across his waist, nuzzling into his neck. John spoke softly, “Mmm, let's stay like this. Let’s do this forever.” Sherlock smiled and nuzzled into his neck, pressing small soft kisses to the small bruises that would be soon gone. “John. Let’s get you clean, and undone.” John sounded like he’s on the edge of sleep, responding “mmm, yeah. Let’s do that.” He thinks he is moving when Sherlock says again with a deep laugh. “John.” He kisses John’s exposed thigh. “John, I am going to remove your clothing. Is that amenable?” John laughs, throwing an arm across his face. “Sherlock. Did you really just ask me if I would be amenable to you stripping me naked?! After you just...just did...that?? How are you so fantastically brilliant, but also so incredibly innocent? It’s intoxicating. Yes, I am amenable. You beautiful beautiful berk.” Sherlock beamed him a smile he had not seen before. It was soft and content and sad all at the same time. “Sherlock, what’s wrong? Are you alright?” Sherlock blinked rapidly speaking softly almost under his breath. “Ah uh, that’s just not what people have said in the past.” John sat up straight, sitting hip to hip with Sherlock. He took Sherlock’s hand in his, placing his other hand on top, protectively. He looked into Sherlock’s eyes with fierce determination. “Sherlock Holmes you are a mad, ridiculous person, you are brilliant and funny, and talented. Fucking talented, and the most gorgeous, most quixotic man I have ever met, and those who say otherwise can piss off, or say those words to me and see how quickly they will have to visit their dentist for emergency surgery.”

John kissed Sherlock’s knuckles still keeping eye contact, then he threaded both his hands into Sherlock’s hair and kissed him with conviction and passion. Wanting to seal all he just said into Sherlock’s mind. Wishing for Sherlock to be able to see what he saw. For he was indeed all of those things and so much more. Their foreheads pressed together, Sherlock said again, “let’s get you cleaned up.” He felt Sherlock smile, and he gave him another peck, before sitting up to the edge of the bed, just as he had started the evening. Sherlock came to his side, kneeling before him once again. He slid one shoe off of John’s foot and then the other. Coming to John’s thighs he unhooked the front garters. The back having popped at some point but neither knew when. Sherlock slid one silk stocking down and off John’s leg and then the other. Sherlock hugged one calf, snuggling his cheek on the inside of John's knee. He kissed that inner knee before he rose fully on his knees. John bent down as far and his corset allowed and kissed Sherlock again. They had not spoken a word as Sherlock cared for him. He was being tender. Slow. Soft. Deliberate. He came up to sit next to John. “Turn your back to me John, so I can unlace your corset. You are generally supposed to set your laces in the back, then use your busk to open and close it, but this way...this way is better.” John licked his lips and turned slowly. Sherlock started to slowly loosen the strings. 

While he was working, Sherlock occasionally pressed small kisses upon John's shoulders. He lightly rubbed his finger pads across John’s gunshot wound. It was still slightly pink in the center, white spindles branching off the bullseye. “May I?” He asked John. Keeping his head forward, John nodded. “I can’t really feel most of it anymore. Most of the nerves are dead. There are a few that are frayed that can cause a tingle of pain, but not many.” Sherlock moved his fingers around the entire scar. Each finger following the trail of scar tissue into the middle. He placed a soft kiss to that bullseye, silently thanking whichever god had brought John home to London. 

“My turn for a question then?” John asks sheepishly. “When is your guest arriving?”

“What? Oh yes! Right!” Sherlock said with a slightly nervous edge. He kissed John’s shoulder over and over. “That was for you. Had things gone the way I hoped.” 

“What do you mean ‘the way you hoped?’ Hoped how?”

“I thought that would have been fairly obvious by now John.”

“Explain it to me.” He replied. Sherlock’s hands came around John’s waist squeezing the bottom of the busk open and then the top. Sliding down John’s chest, touching before seeing. He was softer than he must have been during his time at war, but the definition was still there; plateaus and valleys of muscle. John leans back into Sherlock’s chest. “What do you mean Sherlock? Please tell me.” 

Sherlock kissed the top of John’s head. Resting his check into it. “It means that I have wanted you all along John. From the moment you stepped in the flat for the first time. Here to clean on my brother’s behest. I honestly felt like he had brought me treasure, with a cleaning bonus. I tried to be professional for the first few weeks. But when you said you could speak French, I could not handle it anymore. Then you so readily accepted my proposition... I was hoping that one-day things would fall into place but they never did. So, today I decided to take matters into my own hands. After all John, I hate waiting.”

John turned around on him, one leg on the bed the other hanging off the side. “Oh my God. Sherlock Holmes did you really suck face with a vacuum in an attempt to get into my pants?! What was your next plan had that not worked?! Drink the washing up soap??”

“No. I knew it would work.” he said smiling. “No, you didn’t.” John chuckled. 

“You were a doctor. You have a Hippocratic oath to heal. You would have helped. Then it was the sheer force of desire.” 

“At least your lips still work,” replied John. “John, I took every factor possible into account. It was highly controlled. I never would have gotten hurt. Plus, I knew you would be there to help.” 

“Yeah yeah,” John said leaning forward against Sherlock until he fell back on the bed. Snogging him senseless. 

Breaking the kiss, Sherlock asked, “Dinner?” 

“Starving.” John said, kissing him once more. SIGNPOST: THIS IS THE START OF YOUR NEW LIFE. CONGRATULATIONS.

Workin’ 9 to 5

Sometimes John Watson, _Captain in the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers three years in Afghanistan, a veteran of Kandahar, Helmand, and Bart’s bloody Hospital._ wondered how he missed some of the signs posts that said his life was about to take a sharp turn. For example: how the hell did he go from saving the lives of soldiers in a desert to sitting in a cab wearing a partial French maid costume, on his way to 221B Bakers Street for the weekly cleaning service the tenant of the flat had requested. 

He had been invalided home to London at the end of the summer of last year and found it difficult to find a job that was not filled by a uni student on break. He applied for any business that said they might have an opening soon. From takeaway delivery to secretarial positions, he was willing to do anything to have a steady income. By November his savings had been completely depleted, and he was truly worried that he was going to have to live off beans and toast just to be able to make rent on his military pension. A couple of weeks before Christmas he received a phone call from a cleaning service called Busy Bee Cleaners. They said that if he could pass a background check, they could use the extra help during the holidays, and then see how it went in January. “If you pass the check, we will call you in 48 hours with your jobs. We’re pretty overrun right now, so do you think you could handle 3-4 jobs a day?” The person on the other end of the line asked. “Yeah. Absolutely. Great. Thank You.” was about all he could get out before the person said “Okay. Goodbye” and hung up on him. John’s first day was a doozy. He had not realized how much energy was exerted when cleaning a house for the holidays. Everyone seemed to believe the bloody Queen would be making a surprise visit and wanted deep cleanings from baseboards to ceiling tiles. The homeowners were never present, and he wondered what kind of security they had in their life to allow a stranger to clean their house unattended. Grateful for his medical and army training, he was able to blitz through his appointments quickly. Here was another signpost he missed. WILL STILL USE MEDICAL AND ARMY SKILLS BUT NOT THE ONES YOU THINK The pay was fairly decent, no longer feeling like he was teetering on the edge of poverty and transient. Finally able to take a deep breath. 

His first appearance at 221B, he had almost turned and ran. There was no way in hell he was going to be able to get all this mess cleared out. Mr. Holmes met him downstairs, in a burgundy housecoat, black trousers, and a hunter green button-down. John felt completely underdressed in soft worn jeans, and a “Busy Bee Cleaners'' polo shirt. _It's your uniform, you have to wear this on the first visit. Don’t get so discouraged. You’re here as a professional, not for a cup of tea and a chat._ “Good Afternoon, my name is John Watson, I am here for the cleaning you have scheduled at 11.” He said. “Yes, of course. Do come in.” Mr. Holmes’ voice replied in a deep baritone. _Holy fuck. That voice was molten sugar. Keep talking. I could listen to you list every church in London. Just let me hear you again. He is the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. I wouldn’t be surprised if his flat looked like Dracula’s castle. Is this what thrall was like? Settle the fuck down Watson._ Another sign post- THIS PERSON IS ABOUT TO CHANGE YOUR LIFE. TURN BACK NOW IF YOU MUST.

Mr. Holmes walked him through the rooms he would be expected to clean. He pointed out the basement flat- 221C. He let John know that he could store his belongings there, as well as all the cleaning supplies. They went down into the flat, and Mr. Holmes explained that 221 C had been the basement flat, but when the landlady decided that getting another tenant was a moot point, She let Mr. Holmes have it. There was a dehumidifier in one corner to control the damp, a floor-length mirror, a small settee with a side table, a cabinet where John could keep any personal items. There was a small supply of cleaning tools and sprays, and a few odds and ends of science equipment. The vacuum was kept in a hall closet up the stairs because it was old and heavy, but everything else would be in the small basement flat. On the main floor, he was to take care of the dusting, floors, general organization of books and papers. The main bathroom, and the kitchen dishes. Mr. Holmes told him that he need not worry about the counters and tables in the kitchen, nor his bedroom unless he requested a cleaning, for which he would pay extra. On the third floor was a minimally decorated bedroom, with a small powder room attached. The same cleaning routine applied to this room as the bedroom below. Mr. Holmes said that it was seldom used, so cleaning was rarely required. 

“Right, this all looks fairly simple. Would you like me to get started then?” John asked as they stood awkwardly in the blank space of the 3rd-floor room. Rocking on his feet back and forth. Mr. Holmes was an attractive and intimidating person to be standing next to. 

“By all means, please do. I will be in the kitchen if you have any questions. You may have to get my attention, I become quite focused when I am on a case.” Without another word, he quickly swept out of the room and down the stairs. Leaving John to look around the room quizzically. _A case? What does that even mean? What type of case? Medical? Police?”_ Trotting back down to C he gathered the supplies and got to work on trying to find the floor to the sitting room. Mr. Holmes was right. He had hardly moved from his microscope as John worked. Even when he took his lunch break, (convenient little sandwich shop attached to the building) and returned he had maybe moved a foot to the left. Silent the entire time. John worked on the bathroom and kitchen after lunch, moving around The man at the microscope, finishing around 2. “Ah, Mr. Holmes.” He said on the opposite side of the table. “Mr. Holmes?” _Was he really not hearing me? Is he ignoring me?_ Finally, John decided to just walk around to him and place his hand on Mr. Holmes’ shoulder and wait until he was acknowledged. It was less than a heartbeat when Mr. Holmes jumped at John’s touch. “Whoa, sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. Sorry. I just wanted to let you know that I am done for the day and set up for the next cleaning. Does next Friday, about the same time as today work for you?” 

“Hmm? Oh yes of course. Let me give you a set of keys, though I should be here every time. In case something interesting has arisen.” 

John Smirked, the words out of his mouth before he blinked “We just met, and I already get keys to your flat? How lucky can one guy get?.” The colour in Mr. Holmes’ cheeks rose, a small bashful smile in his eyes and on his lips. 

“I’m only pulling your leg. I’d need dinner at the least, before considering a move.” 

“Hmm, well maybe next time then,” Sherlock replied, gears in his brain coming back online to reply. John smiled, and Mr. Holmes shook his hand and walked him out the door. 

On his way to the tube station, John couldn’t help but wonder what he was getting into with this man. _Next time? Did he really just accept and offer dinner? Technically *technically* was Mr. Holmes was his employer...Well, there is some Secretary fantasy fuel right there... but also, was this going a bit too far? Let’s not get too cocky Watson. Just having a bit of fun with the hot customer…_ He was early enough in the evening that he was able to find a seat, and as he sat at the end of the bench, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Pulling it out, he read on the lock screen, from an unknown number

S: “Which was it – Afghanistan or Iraq -SH”

J: I’m sorry who is this? 

S“Sherlock Holmes, who else could it be? Are you that popular to receive text messages from just anyone? You didn’t receive a single message while you were in my flat, and I am the most recent person you have had direct contact with, so who else would you assume is messaging you in the afternoon, from an unknown number, having just left a flat less than 20 minutes ago? -SH”

He lost reception in the carriage before he had time to respond. However, it did give him time to formulate a response. _How did he know about Afghanistan?_ By the time the train reached his station on the far East side of London, he went with a simple message.

J: Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know ...?

S: “I know you’re an Army doctor and you’ve been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you’ve got a brother who’s worried about you but you won’t go to him for help because you don’t approve of him – possibly because he’s an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. -SH” J: How could you possibly know all that?” Mr. Holmes' text stopped him dead in his tracks, just outside the station. Someone hit his shoulder walking past. “Oi, watch it mate.” the man said grumpily walking past. “Sorry!” John yelled back. He leaned his back on the brick wall, waiting for a response. There was no way he was going to be able to do anything until he texted back. S: “I didn’t know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. From your review on the Busy Bee website, it says that you are meticulous in how you clean homes. “Precise” “Extremely focused” “hospital corners'' etc etc. precision as only a man trained to be such could be. Years of practise that has become so ingrained, it is a habit. So, army doctor. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You’ve been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your left shoulder hitches when you raise or lower it. However, you try to ignore it. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq. -SH” 

S: “Then there’s your brother. Your phone. It’s expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you took the first job that would hire you. – you wouldn’t waste money on this. It’s a gift, then. Scratches. Not one, many over time. It’s been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn’t treat his one luxury item like this, so it’s had a previous owner. Next bit’s easy. You know it already. -SH”

J: The engraving. _How fast can this man type? I barely have time to read before he has typed a whole other paragraph._

Sherlock fired off another round of texts confirming that John's sibling was indeed a drunk whose marriage had ended. J: That was…Amazing.

S: “Do you think so? -SH”

J: Of _course_ it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary.

S: “That's not what people normally say. -SH”

J: What do people normally say?

S: “Piss Off. -SH”

S: “Did I get anything wrong? -SH”

J: Close. So very close. 

J: Harry is short for Harriet.

S: “Your sister! I have to quit underestimating lesbians. -SH”

J: Nor should you trust a Sicilian when death is on the line”

S: “And what would be the evidence for that? -SH

J: What?! Please tell me you have seen The Princess Bride???

S: “Can’t say that I have. -SH”

J: OH, do I have some homework for you!

S: “What? Update myself on pop culture reference? Boring.-SH”

John laughed out loud and continued his walk to his flat. _Sexy and funny. I don’t stand a chance._ Their teasing and flirty texts continue the rest of the evening and throughout the weekend. Their week seemed busy, either with John’s work or Mr. Holmes being on cases which John finally understood about him being on _cases_. When on the said case his texts came at completely random times, with no rhyme or reason behind them. 

S: “The sapphire was found on the scale of Lady Justice that sits atop the Old Bailey.-SH”

J: If you’re texting this late, I hope it's for something worthwhile. 

J: Do you ever sleep?

“Not usually when I am on a case. -SH”

J: I would love to chat with you some more, but I have to go clean this poncy buggers flat tomorrow. You should see how much paper he has. 

S: “How droll, John. Good Night. -SH”

J: Good night. I am glad that I will get a chance to see you tomorrow.

S: “You’re supposed to be sleeping. -SH” 

John was only mildly surprised when Mr. Holmes asked if he spoke French (“Enough for everyday conversation, not enjoying to be a UN translator”) and only slightly more surprised by the proposition Mr. Holmes offered before he left. He had asked if -for extra pay- John would be willing to participate in an experiment that would include a costume of his (Mr. Holmes) choosing. That it would be a long term experiment, for he was collecting multiple points of data. If at any given time John began to feel uncomfortable with the situation, all he had to do was let him know, and it would stop immediately. Thinking _What's the worst that could happen?_ John agreed. 

S: “Do you think you would wear a women's medium or large?- SH”

J: In what? 

J: Also, good evening. 

S: “In costumes. -SH”

J: erm…as shocking as it might sound, I know nothing about women’s clothing sizes. I do however wear 30x29 in trousers and small or mediums in tops. Does that help?

S: “Good enough to be going on. -SH” 

J: Do I get to see what you pick? 

S: “Of course. It will be waiting for you when you arrive on Friday.”

When he returned the following week, he found a cheap french maid Halloween costume and heels of similar quality in 221C with a note that said, ‘If you’d oblige’. John changed, and looked at his reflection in the mirror with a look of ‘what the hell?’ The skirt came to mid-thigh and was a cheap satin that shined bright in the mirror. The heels were not much better, and he wondered how the hell he was going to be able to clean the flat in the vinyl things. Especially with the rounded toe with what seemed like an ankle slaying platform rocker. _How in the hell am I supposed to clean the flat in these?_ He left his black boxer briefs on, because no pants had been provided, and if he was going to go ass over tit in front of Mr. Holmes, this would not be the way he was going to see everything John had to offer. John grabbed his cleaning supplies and wobbled up the stairs like a newborn Bambi. 

He did not end up breaking his ankles, but it did take much longer to do his usual routine. Mr. Holmes was not home, so he was able to clean the kitchen thoroughly. He knew not to bin anything dubious-looking and worked around the stray body parts to clean the fridge. _When did that become part of my normal life? At least in the fridge, you could *almost* forget that they were once apart of a- NOPE. Don’t go down that rabbit hole. You might just end up a loudmouth vegan._ Almost 3 hours later, Stopping for lunch which he ate while sitting in the red plaid armchair, Across from Mr. Holmes’ leather one, John was done. He left a note for Mr. Holmes. _Not sure what data you’re collecting when you’re not even here. These shoes are horrendous_. He left them on the desk in the living room, with the note stuck inside. John was limping with heated blisters forming on his heels. The heated pain on the balls of his feet from the extreme bodyweight shift. He was very grateful that he didn’t have to come back for a week, hopefully giving himself time to heal. Later that night, he received a text. 

S: “I apologise that those shoes were inappropriate. I will amend that for next week. I also apologise for not being here. I thought you might want to get used to your new costume. -SH”

J: “It’s not the worst thing I have worn for a job, so I would not have minded, but ta for the consideration. And the shoes were bloody awful.” 

S: “Not the worst costume? -SH” 

J: “Nah, at uni we all had to take turns as our rugby team’s mascot. Which meant spending time in a squirrel costume, whose giant head smelt of beer and vom.” 

S: “Hmm. I will have to keep that in mind. -SH”

J: “Give me your best shot.”

S: “Be careful what you wish for, John Watson. -SH” 

J: “Is that a promise, or a challenge, Mr. Holmes?”

S: “Please, only Mr. Holmes when you are here and ready to work. Sherlock any other time. -SH”

J: “Alright. Excellent dodge on my question though.”

S: “I want you to speak French when you are here. Only French. - SH” 

J: “Comme tu veux.” 

S:“"Très bien, John. J'ai hâte d'entendre ces mots sortir de ta délicieuse bouche. -SH” 

J: “Oh. Beautiful, hmm?” John felt giddy, there were no other words to describe it. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had taken interest in him, let alone *flirt*. He would do this all night if he could. He also could not believe that this was Sherlock Holmes replying. The world’s most poncy and arrogant consulting detective. Especially one with the most dangerous cheekbones and eyes that shifted like lagoon waters. 

S: “Obviously. -SH”

J: “What else do you find so “obviously” beautiful about me, then?” He was grinning like a mad fool when he pressed send.

S: “You will see. -SH”

J: Sherlock, you are a bloody tease!

S:“"Bonne nuit, bel homme. Fais de beaux rêves. -SH”

Week by week the costume was tweaked, adding or substituting items as Necessary. Eventually, there was the addition of a sexy as hell, most likely triple the cost of the previous maid outfit, with a petticoat, apron, and detached cuffs, followed by a suspender belt and stockings. The pieces were becoming more extravagant. The most recent of which came after his job was done and he was in C getting changed. He noticed a wardrobe box on the small table with a note that said “Take home and practice. Wear next week -SH” it was a black satin corset. What seemed to be a heavy-duty one at that. John read the tag that came with the item. _How exactly am I meant to put this on myself?? What is spiral steel? I see youtube tutorials in my future._

BLACK WAIST TRAINING OVERBUST CORSET

This magnificent black satin waist training underbust corset is made with the strongest spiral steel boning for the ultimate waist reduction and body shaping experience. It offers a potential 5" reduction in waist size when laced at its tightest and is one of our elite range of waist training corsets. It can be worn either as an undergarment or as the centrepiece to an outfit. If you are unsure about waist training or have any questions, do not hesitate to contact us for advice.

Style:Regular Length,Overbust

Corset Features: Cord Lacing,Hip Gores,Steel Busk

Colour: Black

Achievable Waist Reduction: 4-5"

Sweetheart Bustline

Fully Adjustable Structured Corset with Criss Cross Lacing

Front and Back Modesty Panel

Strong Corset Cord Lacing

Strong Waist Tape

6 suspender loops & 4 bra loops

Outer Material: 100% Polyester

Lining: 100% Cotton Twill

18 x 7mm Spiral Steel Bones, 4 x 7mm Flat Steel Bones

Busk Length: 13" (Corset Size 26"-38")

John put the corset in his knapsack and headed home. 

S: “Have you done what I asked? -SH”

J: uhhmm.. Nonononono...Not quite yet. I met a friend at the pub, and am heading home. A bit tipsy.

S: “I am not sure how well it will fit if you struggle with the bloat from beer. -SH”

J: I am offensd! I am hurt! Sorrow fills my chest to think that Sherlock Holmes would believe that *I* John Watson, ex-Army Captain would suffer something so plebeian as “beer bloat”. I have abs chiseled from the GODS!” John had stopped his walk home and with the dizzy of the light-headed buzz fired off a text faster than he could even consider what he was saying. After he pressed send he tried reading what he typed and just sniggered to himself. _Maybe a bit more than tipsy then_

S: “John, do you know your closest intersection? I am sending a cab to you. You should not be walking home in the state you are in as indicated by that text message. -SH”

J: Oh Sherly. Sherloooovk. Gorgeous fucking sherlock. Shercock… I am just outside my flat. Two flights of stair and I am home freeeee! Best part about London- a pub on every corner!”

S: “Well then. Get upstairs and do as I asked. -SH”

J: Oh, bossy pants. 

J: I like it. 

J: hah just tried to used your keys to get into my flat. THat won’t work! 

J: THis very pretty. My chest will looks sadly pathetic in these cups though. Will you still enjoy my sadly pathetic chest?

S: “Most assuredly. -SH”

J: YouTube is my tutor. This front piece is tricksy. 

J: I think I got it. Sherlock, I hope you appreciate what I do for you. THis is taking more conscentration that I currently have.

J: Well it is not as bad as I anticipates. 

S: “I promise you, I will appreciate it. -SH”

J: yeah. You should see this. It looks prettg yood. I imagine it will look better witheverytihng else.

S: “Do I get to see?-SH?

J: Of course. It. I. It. will be waiting for you when I arrive on Friday

S: “I don’t believe that is fair play, Watson.-SH

S: “I want you to wear this every day for the next week. You need to break it in so that you are still able to work on Friday. Wear it to your comfort. There is no need for it to be tight enough to obstruct your breathing. However, it still needs to be tight enough that it gives a slight waist reduction. Is that understood?” -SH”

J: Understood, Sir

S: “Good. -SH”

On Friday, The taxi pulled up to the curb, and let John out. Since the costume had been added to his cleaning routine, he had stopped taking the tube, in favour of the cab. It just made the journey far less anxiety-inducing. He threw his knapsack over the shoulder of the long coat that hid his costume. With jeans and loafers, no one would be all the wiser that he wore back-seam fine fishnet thigh highs and a black suspender belt set that cost as much as his bedsit. The week of wearing the corset had done well to break it in. He was able to comfortably do most activities with zero discomforts. Cleaning the loos was not that pleasant, but when is it ever? By Thursday he had even been able to take it in a little bit more. He paid the cabbie, and headed to the door, his stomach flip-flopping with excitement. This signpost he saw. Hell, he planted it himself. TODAY IS A CARPE DIEM SORT OF DAY. DON'T WASTE IT.

John opened the door to 221, with the keys Mr. Holmes had given him, and headed down to flat C, to get the rest of his costume and cleaning supplies. Once inside he removed his exterior disguise, to reveal his work uniform. He wore the corset and hose, as they took the longest to put on. To the lingerie, he added a fluffy white petticoat, skirt, and apron. Looking around the room, he realized that he couldn't find the simple black pumps that he normally left here, feeling the disappointing panic that hit his stomach when he thought he somehow had brought them home. He noticed a craft paper box with its signature“Louboutin” in white across that sat atop the table near the settee. John sat down to admire the shoes. Unwrapping them gently as if they would break, he pulled out one than the other, and slid them onto his feet, admiring the pair of red-soled black heels that most women would kill for. They made his feet feel dainty. Not that he had larger feet to begin with, but the curve of the foot was very appealing. His ankles seemed small in the stockings. He stood nervously, worried about the slope of shoes. They made him stand up taller, thrusting his ass further out and into the air. His calves and thighs looked carved from stone at the effort of staying perched. He felt wicked and felt his confidence soar looking himself over in his complete outfit. A lace and velvet headpiece and choker. The black satin corset with its spiral steel boning and steel front busk, that nipped his waist just enough to make a difference, but not enough to restrict his work. The black tutu with the full petticoat that teasingly displayed his ass and the edges of the lace knickers. Black and white lace apron that tied at his slim waist and crossed in the back, accentuating his strong soldier shoulders and back. A scapula framed on each side, his gunshot wound seeming to be the paramount piece of an art gallery, highlighted in the frame of black and white lace. Agent Provocateur suspender belt, knickers, and fine silk mesh thigh highs with their back seam, now completed with the most deadly pair of shoes he would ever own. His entire wardrobe was not worth the amount he was sure he was wearing. The knowledge that Mr. Holmes had picked every piece for him, had his cheeks turning pink and his heart pounding in his chest, anticipating the look on his face when he saw the whole kit and caboodle. Making sure his suspenders were securely attached to the top of the stockings and that the back seams were straight, John grabbed his bucket of cleaning supplies and climbed the stairs to the upstairs flat. 

The door was closed, which was not abnormal, but it seldom happened. He wondered if Mr. Holmes was involved in an extensive experiment. Knocking quickly he said, "Bonjour M. Holmes. Je suis John Watson, des services de nettoyage Busy Bees." As routine. He waited for a moment before he heard “Entrez”. John opened the door, to see Mr. Holmes sitting in his leather chair, eyes closed, fingers templed under his nose. _Well posed, Holmes._ He slowly walked into the center of the room, heels click-clacking on the hardwood floor. As he set his bucket down on the ground, Sherlock slowly opened his eyes to look at him. He panned from the heels to calves to thighs, thin waist, strong arms, chest and shoulders, strong jaw, and distinctly John facial features. John felt every moment of Sherlock’s gaze like the warmth of a sunbeam moving across the room. When they locked eyes, he saw a predatory, hungry look in Sherlock's eyes. They had gone from the blue-green of stormy ocean waters to the grey-blue clouds that brought the tempest to the sea. John worried at his bottom lip, the intensity of the moment drawing the time out into a glacial pace. Mr. Holmes let out a huff of a breath, making John suck in a breath that he didn’t realize he had been missing. “Retournez-vous.” Sherlock said softly. John listened and turned to face the damask wallpaper. Doing what he could to amplify the view, arching his back just a bit more. Behind him, he heard the faintest groan “Putain”, followed by throat clearing. “Et bien, ne restez pas là, M. Watson. Allez, mettez-vous au travail! Je serai dans la cuisine.” With that he stood and left the room, but not before witnessing John bend at the waist, fully exposing his lace-covered ass, to get his bucket of cleaning supplies. “Bien sûr, M. Holmes.” he said to get Mr. Holmes’ attention. Sherlock let out a harsh grunt and had to adjust himself before sitting at his work table. He had only been able to sneak a few glances at him while he worked in the sitting room. Though he did stare, slack-jawed when John climbed up a little step stool to dust the upper bookshelves. The heels were amazing and made his calves and thighs look etched in marble within a shroud of stockings and suspenders that lead a direct line to John’s pert ass, swathed in black lace and frill. His arms above him, wiping down the shelves made his shoulders roll in waves of muscle and bone. Simply gorgeous. Sherlock had been so lost in his mind, that he hadn’t even noticed that John was looking at him amused, with a slight blush rising on his cheeks. Knowing he was caught in his indulgence, Sherlock said nothing and went back to his microscope. Without looking up, he asked John to tidy up the room upstairs, as he was expecting an overnight guest. “ "M. Watson, j'attends un invité pour la nuit et je souhaite que la chambre soit nettoyée.“John agreed and trotted up the stairs, giving Sherlock another look at his exquisite legs and ass as he went. So far John had willingly agreed to his ‘experiment’ wholeheartedly, Was cheeky and flirtatious, and yet he still found himself keeping his distance. Wondering what it would take to make his advance, Sherlock had one other ridiculous idea up his sleeve. 

John was cleaning the upstairs guest room and half bath of 221B when he heard the familiar sound of Mr. Holmes’ old heavy-duty vacuum. _What is he up to now?_ He wondered. It kept starting and stopping in inconsistent intervals, almost as if he was stopping it with his hand. Next, a funny screech like wind leaching through a crack in a seal and a strangled grumble, that was very close to the verge of panic. John knew that meant that Mr. Holmes had gotten something stuck in the hose, and he prayed that it wasn’t what normal men might get stuck. He walked downstairs and saw him sitting at the kitchen table through the doorway. John stopped at the bottom of the stairs trying so hard not to laugh at the brilliant mad man who was struggling to pull away from the vacuum hose which had sucked in his lips and skin. _What a berk. What was he even trying to do? That mouth though..._ “What in the bloody hell do you think you’re doing, Sherlock? Christ.” Mr. Holmes grunted and pointed at the switch in the back of the barrel. 

“Fine, fine. But you know, most boys figure this out as teens.” He said giving a chuckle. As John bent over to flip the machine off, he noticed Mr. Holmes staring at him pointedly again. Intense and almost overwhelming. His corset was cut low, in a sweetheart neck, which arched just over his nipples and accentuated his pecs. The halter fit of the apron exposed his gunshot wound along with his defined shoulders and biceps. He stood up, deliberately crossing his arms, flexing his biceps just a bit, and stared right back. 

Sherlock lowered the hose from his lips, swallowing hard at John standing in front of him, with his lips slightly red and swollen. John looked at them, then quickly up to meet his gaze, but unconsciously he licked his lips. He cleared his throat and asked “Can I have a closer look? To make sure you didn’t cause any damage?” _So I have an excuse to touch your face. Your lips. Your hair. Anything._ Sherlock nodded slightly. John stepped over the hoover and stood in front of Sherlock, while Sherlock spread his legs for John to stand between them before he realised what he was doing. John was so close to him. Probably more close than necessary, but he didn’t mind. With the high heels on, Sherlock’s head sat right at John’s chest. Cautiously John held Sherlock’s chin with one hand, turning his face side to side, analysing and trying to maintain his professional doctor persona as best he could with Sherlock’s intense eyes boring into him, and his body pressed so closely. Licking his lips again, he softly rubbed the pad of his thumb across Sherlock’s bottom lip and then back again. Sherlock’s eyes closed half-lidded, and he inhaled a sharp breath. John repeated the action across his top lip, the velvet softness of his lips, begging to be nipped and sucked. John slid his thumb down the center of Sherlock’s lips, dragging his bottom lip open, Sherlocks teeth were open, and grazed them across the pad of his thumb. 

With the same gentleness, Sherlock had begun to rub his fingertips along the seam of the stockings on the backs of John’s thighs. Reaching the point where ass meets leg and then back down again. John ran his hands through Sherlock’s curls, and Sherlock moved further up, palming John’s cheeks. John grabbed at Sherlock’s hair, pulling his neck back a bit, so he too grabbed John’s ass, kneading the skin and muscles in his hands. “You’re ass is delectable in this costume.” Sherlock said aloud, squeezing again. “mmm, fuck” John said under his breath, looking down at Sherlock, who smiled a mischievous grin at him. “If that’s where this is leading, then by all means, please keep going.” With that, John bent over to kiss him softly, hands still entangled in the mess of curls. Sherlock grabbed the backs of John’s thighs, forcing him to hook his legs over Sherlock’s thighs and into his lap- losing all of his height advantages. The kiss intensified, as Sherlock’s hands roamed John’s exposed skin. John kept his hands gripped in Sherlock’s hair. Amazed and how soft the mess of curls was. Sitting up taller, John broke the kiss, leaning and arching his back, pressing his groin harder into Sherlock's lap. This action exposed his neck to Sherlock who took the subtle cue to nip and suck up one side and the other. Just at the base of his neck Sherlock bit John and sucked a growing purple mark. Moaning just a bit and pulling John as close as he could. John could feel Sherlock’s erection through his pyjama bottoms, his own beginning to strain against the lace underwear he was still wearing. He wrapped his legs around the back legs of the chair hooking the heels to the metal to rut against Sherlock. He felt as if he was giving him a lap dance, still contained in his maid costume the frills covered the view of their clothing bound bucking. Sherlock was ruthless in the plunder of John's throat and jawline and back to his mouth again, causing whimpers and soft moans to spring from John. Sherlock whispered in John’s ear in his low baritone “ Viens dans ma chambre et laisse-moi te ravir complètement. Je n'ai pas voulu faire autre chose depuis le moment où nous nous sommes rencontrés.” and suckled on his lobule. All John could do was shiver at the promise and nod in approval. He unwrapped his legs from the chair And stood to a straddle above Sherlock. Sherlock’s head fell against the steel busk of the corset and held John’s narrow waist. He moved his hands and used his nails to scratch up the sides of John’s thigh, curving to then hold his hip bones. Sherlock kissed his way down the corset and used his nose to duck under the layers of lace. John groaned and bucked at the feeling of Sherlock’s hot breath on his groin. “Ooo..Mr. Hol-“ John said, the end of the word bitten off with a hard gruff of air. The Pressure of Sherlock’s tongue running up the underside of John’s erection jailed in the mesh and lace, kissing the tip as drops of precome interlaced with the knickers. He came up again softly saying in English “you have no idea what you do to me, John Watson. He pushed John back- who moved on quivering legs. _Women deserve bloody awards for all the work it takes to stay upright in heels. Bloody gold medals._ John thought as Sherlock took his hand in led him to the bedroom. John had only been in here once before, never having the room on his cleaning list. The one time it was, John Swore he could smell burnt pork and hair lingering in the air and decided to ask no questions about the matter because he really really did not want to know. 

Though it was still mid-afternoon, the room was dim, with the darkness of clouds that suggested a thunderstorm was brewing. It was sparse and well organised compared to the rest of the flat. Sherlock turned to face John as soon as the door closed behind him. He crowded into John’s space until he was pinned to the door with Sherlock’s hips and thighs. Sherlock grabbed John’s wrists and held them above his head with one hand. The other hand reaching down into the corset, finding his right nipple to tease into a little pebble of desire. He did the same with his left side. Staring directly into his eyes. His voice leaving ghost kisses on John’s lips he said; “I want to taste you. Right here, against the door. Then I want to lay you on the bed, your wickedly beautiful body displayed just for me. I want to spread your legs over my shoulders and feel them quake as I eat you out, preparing you until you’re just on the edge, and then I will push my cock into you so slowly you will feel like you will go mad if you wait any longer. And when you are lost to oblivion I want to come some deep inside you that you will be thinking of me for days. And years to come, with a shiver every time you remember this moment..” Sherlock finished his plan of action with kisses down John’s neck and shoulder. He wrapped his arms around John's waist, circling his hips into John’s pelvis. Teasing at John's lips with his tongue. “Oh, god yes.” John said in a huskier voice than he intended. Given his permission, Sherlock untied the apron bow at the base of Johns’s spine, sitting right on top of his ass. The straps slid down John’s arms and dropped it to the floor. He then sank to his knees, and lifted the skirt and petticoat, to see John properly for the first time. His erection was pushed to the side in the black lace, the head of it trying to push out of the top. He groaned and licked his lips, lifted the skirts, hiding back under their cover again. 

The lack of visualisation made every subtle movement from Sherlock explosive with goose flesh and shivers through his body. John’s hands hand no ability to gain traction against the door, causing all his tension to go straight to his groin. Sherlock teased between John’s legs. Huffing hot breath and nips on his inner thighs. Just at the edge of the panty line. He slid his hands between the pants and John’s ass, kneading and prying apart the cheeks and bringing his fingertips painfully close to the knot of sensitive flesh. He mouthed John's cock, trapped by the lace, coming to the tip, he lowered the knickers just enough to expose John's head and suck it lightly. John bucked sharply and the contact. “Fuuuck” he hissed. Sherlock moved out from under the skirts and looked back up at John. “Fuck Sherlock...geezus”. He said with a shiver. Grinning, Sherlock removed the skirts, easing them down John’s micro net clad legs. Gingerly picking up John’s feet at the ankles to fully remove the skirt. He touches the upper arch of John’s foot and asks-” How are these heels? I know they are expensive, but...” he says running his hands around John’s calves. “They do astounding things to your legs.” Ending the question with his hands flat above John’s knees, John’s hand resting in Sherlock’s hair, and looked up again into John’s eyes. “They’re good. Yeah. Great.” John clears his throat. “Maybe a full product review later?” John chuckles. Sherlock shrugged “Alright”. And then pulled down John’s pants faster than John could ever process. Releasing his now fully erect cock with a small bounce. Sherlock leaned back a bit onto his upturned feet. “Mmmm yes fucking perfect,” he said. Then, “Oh for god sakes, John rest your hands. I don’t care where they are. You will still be the most completely fucking gorgeous thing on this planet. Then John had a place for his hands- he covered his face with them both and hit his head to the door. He could feel his ears flaming red. Sherlock used this moment to take hold of John’s cock, licking the head of it a few times before taking it into his mouth. John looked back down at Sherlock, the sight of this brilliant man taking his cock in and out of his mouth John's hands found the back of Sherlock's head luxuriating into the feeling, moaning as he continued to watch the man on his knees... Sherlock bounced further down John’s cock his mouth moving up...down....updown, changing the rhythm as he saw fit. Eventually, he took him to the hilt. He looked up at John, his chin brushing his public hair. John looked down at him at the halt of the motion. _That mouth. That fucking fucking mouth._ He shuddered and skidded down the door a bit. Sherlock moved and watched as John’s thighs quaked, trying to hold himself up while still in the 5-inch heels. He helped John stand and said, “Have a seat on the bed. I think we will need a moment if we are to get through all that I have planned.” John sat, and Sherlock looked down at him, kissing John chastely. Turning his back to John to remove his clothes, he started with the dark blue silk robe he was wearing. He hung it on the hook next to the others. Next He deliberately, slowly, removed his soft cornflower blue T-shirt over his head, Letting John see all the muscles in his back inch by inch. He heard a low moan behind him. He pulled the shirt off quickly and looked behind him. Seeing John, legs spread on the edge of the bed in the corset and thigh highs and heels, leaning on his left hand on the top of the footboard, right hand wrapped loosely on his cock, lazily stroking up and down. “Mmmm that’s good.” Sherlock’s voice dripping slowly from his mouth like honey. Facing John he slowly pulled the string to untie the grey-blue silk pyjama bottoms already sitting so low they actually seemed to be suspended simply by his hard cock. He stepped out of the bottoms and looks squarely at John. Stroking his hands down his chest. Palming his cock, giving it a twist as John’s hand started to speed up on his own erection.

John watched Sherlock undress, enjoying the tease of his motions. The blue robe was beautiful against his pale skin, amplifying his piercing eyes. John enjoyed his camel and burgundy robe, but the blue was his favourite. He relaxed into the moment and let himself start caressing his cock. One twist as Sherlock purposefully removed his tee. Exposing back dimples, taut skin over back and shoulder muscles. It was impossible to stifle his moan at the sight. Sherlock turned around to look at him, and the sight was even better. His hand gripped his cock tighter, looking at Sherlock’s chest. How he hid all of this beauty under his well-cut suits was almost a shame. He was slender but firm. Solid arms and pecks, with just the hint of abdominal definition, downy hairs sparse across his chest down to the trail to his pubic hair that was exposed by barely held pyjamas. The low riding pants gave a delicious sight of Sherlock’s curved hip bones. All three trails pointing directly to his still hidden cock. John’s head lulled back and forward as his ministrations sped up. “Fuuuuck. God, Sherlock. How are you the way you are?” Sherlock smiled, loosening the string of his pants and letting them slide down. John licked his lips finally getting a chance to take in the full sight of him, completely at a loss of words. Sherlock gave a twist of his prick and stepped forward. 

Sherlock stepped up to the footboard of the bed, with one padded ledge that came to his knees, and one a little further down. He reached his hand across John’s lap to John’s hands to stop his motions. John slowed to a stop with a studded breath. He bent to the side to hold John’s head sideways, giving him a deep slow kiss. Sherlock licked the curve up John’s ear and said to him “Crawl to the headboard.”. “Yes Mr. Holmes.“ John Says, this time making Sherlock shudder with a slight growl. John rolled over to his hands and knees and crawled luxuriously, the sway of his ass overemphasised, the back straps of the garter belt rubbing side to side against his ass. Sherlock hummed in approval. “Good boy. Now lay down with your knees up and spread and place your upper body any way that is comfortable for you. Once John was settled (with one arm resting on the busk of his corset, and the other in his hair. _Good. He found a good place for them this time._ ) Sherlock thought with a wicked grin. He crossed the bed in one large slide like a Jaguar sneaking through tall grass, knees coming to rest right at John’s ass. Sherlock was tall when he stood on his knees. He almost seemed taller this way. Leaning over John, with a cushion of space between bodies, he kissed him once more. This kiss was long and lingering building the desire between them. John’s hips humping the air wanting just any sort of friction. Sherlock backed out of the kiss with a couple of small pecks placed on to John’s face. He licked the tip of his tongue across John’s lips playfully. John rose his head, playing the game. He grabbed Sherlock’s bottom lip in a light grip and began sucking. _How did he already know that Sherlock loved that move?_ The snog lasted days and days. Or 10 seconds. Both at the same time forever and instantaneous. Before Sherlock noticed he had been sucked down into the heat of John’s body. Their hips rutting together with the slightly damp friction, in tandem with their kiss. Sherlock was lifting his upper body with John following like a fish on a hook. Sherlock pinned John’s chest down with his hands. “Whoa whoa. Wait.” He says sweetly. John dropped his head to the pillow annoyed with Sherlock’s constant pauses. Sherlock rolled his eyes at him. “The list John. This was not on this list. The next round, absolutely, but now I believe it is time for me to ravage your ass.“ 

Sherlock stretched his legs out from under him. John lifted up from the pillow again, resting on his forearms, before having his arms pulled out from him at what he saw. . “A cock in front of your face is absolutely the most sinful image I could ever imagine.” John said. Sherlock smiled with a ‘just you wait’ sort of impishness. He pushed John’s thighs apart and up a bit, exposing his hole to the chill air. Sherlock started with a kiss on the head of his cock. And deep throating it in a fail swoop, John arched his back, not even considering how Sherlock would feel. “Aahhhhhh shit. Sorry. That was ohhhh” Sherlock sucked off with a pop, and lowered his tongue to John’s balls, taking one than the other in his mouth, incentivized by every moan and curse he could wrench from John’s lips. He continued further down, gently lapping at John’s hole with his flat tongue. John’s ass clenched and his whole body shivered into the touch. Sherlock blew cold air across his body, then continued to lap and suck at his asshole, toying with it when he formed his tongue into a bullet shape. Probing lightly with his tongue, he started to slide it into John’s asshole. “Aaagguuuh..uuff” John huffed “Yessss please.. More” Sherlock slid his hands up the bed to clasp John’s. He rippled and rolled his tongue once he was able, loosening John’s asshole with each bolt. Sherlock hooked his arms around John’s hips pulling even closer, his long fingers wrapped around the base of John’s cock. John’s hitched his legs over Sherlock’s shoulders, locking his heels together, fucking Sherlock’s face. He had never had this before and ohhh fuck how he could have this man eat his ass with fervor and ride his face to the brink of oblivion. If he was saying words he didn’t know. His cock so hard he was leaking onto his stomach and suspender belt. “Fuck Sherlock. Please. Oh god. How. You. Fuck. I’m so close Sherlock please.” He begged for release. Sherlock looked up at John writhing on the edge of one plane and the next. Sitting up again on his knees, he rubbed their cocks together slicking himself up from his own saliva and John’s precome. John’s focus drifted in and out his thoughts wandering around oblivion. When Sherlock kissed him again he felt like a roller coaster car coming back to its station. A kiss on his neck. Every point of John’s being was vibrating with need. Sherlock looked into his eyes, hand caressing his cheek. Waiting until John was able to focus on him. “You are doing so good luv. You’re so beautiful. So beautiful. Sherlock whispers between kisses. “You’re so close, aren’t you, sweet thing. So ready.” John’s head tilted into the cradle of Sherlock's hand, Nodding. “Alright then. Let’s go” He kissed John one more time, and. lifted back up, in between John’s knees. He sucked two fingers into his mouth, wetting them. He slid them into John’s partially stretched asshole, twisting and scissoring them, being careful not to stimulate his prostate. John started to wriggle against him seeking more. Sherlock pressed in one more finger once again stretching him just a bit more. Sherlock reached behind him, to grab the small packet of lube that he had left on the footboard. He warmed the packet in his hands before lubricating himself a bit more. Next, he took his cock in hand to level with John’s ass. He pushed his head on slowly, giving John a chance to experience and relax. John’s hands were on his thighs, so Sherlock placed his hands over, interlacing their fingers slightly. 

So slow. Sherlock worked himself into John so wickedly so slow. It was beautiful and excruciating. “Ahhh oooosherrrll” “Relax John. It will be worth it, I promise, just breathe into it. Lightly, he wrapped one hand around John’s flagging erection, working at it as he started rocking backward and forwards, in and out. Stroked, up and down, kicking up his pace and depth as John relaxed around him. Eventually, he had John stretched wide enough for deep thrusts, John’s legs thrown across Sherlock’s shoulders, heels kicking Sherlock’s back, paced with his thrusts. John’s chest wash flushed, Sherlock, holding his hips in place. Over and over. He could feel John’s muscles fighting around him knocking Sherlock off his pattern. “So good John. Fuck.” Sherlock grunted out. “Aahhhhh” He took John's legs and wrapped them around his waist. He moved down, kissed John, and then clung to him chest to chest. He kissed John as he thrust deep. John’s legs pushing against his ass pushing harder when Sherlock pushed in. Sherlock fucked and kissed him like he was aching for this moment. Wanting to savour it before it fled. He filled every moment with a tortured passion, breaking the kiss when the need for air became overwhelming. John’s cock had been pinned between them, rubbing against their sweaty lower abdomens. He was hard and leaking from the intense friction. Sherlock slowed to snail’s pace, scooping his thrusts to hit John’s prostate. Once. Twice. And John was coming with a silent wail and then grunts and huffs, and a long hard push against Sherlock’s cock, wanting him deeper and deeper in his ass. Sherlock’s rhythm was completely blown. He wrapped his arms under John’s shoulders and clung to him. Deep breathing and grunting into John’s neck. He pushed John further onto his cock. Sherlock’s feet pushing against the footboard. As deep as he could get. He held John powerfully, tightly thrusting quickly as he came. Pulsing into John’s ass, spurt after spurt. Sherlock buried his head down at the crook of John’s neck and bit hard into his deep moan and grunts. “Joohhhhnn” he cries out coming to a still with a shiver. He thrusts one more time before he floated back into his body like a leaf, and relaxed completely on top of John.

John finds himself again as Sherlock is pushing his cock into him with uncontrolled thrusts. He can feel Sherlock’s cock pumping and spurting into his ass. Two big long flexes and Sherlock is spent, collapsing on top of him, both of them breathing hard. John relaxed with Sherlock who seemed to be moving a bit slower. Sherlock did his best to pull out as gently as he could, but John still winced a bit as he slid out. Sherlock’s come following behind him. He rolls off of John, trapping John’s right arm beneath his neck. They both breathed deeply to catch their breath and slow their heart rate. Sherlock rolled to his side, throwing his long leg across John’s thighs. His arm across his waist, nuzzling into his neck. John spoke softly, “Mmm, let's stay like this. Let’s do this forever.” Sherlock smiled and nuzzled into his neck, pressing small soft kisses to the small bruises that would be soon gone. “John. Let’s get you clean, and undone.” John sounded like he’s on the edge of sleep, responding “mmm, yeah. Let’s do that.” He thinks he is moving when Sherlock says again with a deep laugh. “John.” He kisses John’s exposed thigh. “John, I am going to remove your clothing. Is that amenable?” John laughs, throwing an arm across his face. “Sherlock. Did you really just ask me if I would be amenable to you stripping me naked?! After you just...just did...that?? How are you so fantastically brilliant, but also so incredibly innocent? It’s intoxicating. Yes, I am amenable. You beautiful beautiful berk.” Sherlock beamed him a smile he had not seen before. It was soft and content and sad all at the same time. “Sherlock, what’s wrong? Are you alright?” Sherlock blinked rapidly speaking softly almost under his breath. “Ah uh, that’s just not what people have said in the past.” John sat up straight, sitting hip to hip with Sherlock. He took Sherlock’s hand in his, placing his other hand on top, protectively. He looked into Sherlock’s eyes with fierce determination. “Sherlock Holmes you are a mad, ridiculous person, you are brilliant and funny, and talented. Fucking talented, and the most gorgeous, most quixotic man I have ever met, and those who say otherwise can piss off, or say those words to me and see how quickly they will have to visit their dentist for emergency surgery.”

John kissed Sherlock’s knuckles still keeping eye contact, then he threaded both his hands into Sherlock’s hair and kissed him with conviction and passion. Wanting to seal all he just said into Sherlock’s mind. Wishing for Sherlock to be able to see what he saw. For he was indeed all of those things and so much more. Their foreheads pressed together, Sherlock said again, “let’s get you cleaned up.” He felt Sherlock smile, and he gave him another peck, before sitting up to the edge of the bed, just as he had started the evening. Sherlock came to his side, kneeling before him once again. He slid one shoe off of John’s foot and then the other. Coming to John’s thighs he unhooked the front garters. The back having popped at some point but neither knew when. Sherlock slid one silk stocking down and off John’s leg and then the other. Sherlock hugged one calf, snuggling his cheek on the inside of John's knee. He kissed that inner knee before he rose fully on his knees. John bent down as far and his corset allowed and kissed Sherlock again. They had not spoken a word as Sherlock cared for him. He was being tender. Slow. Soft. Deliberate. He came up to sit next to John. “Turn your back to me John, so I can unlace your corset. You are generally supposed to set your laces in the back, then use your busk to open and close it, but this way...this way is better.” John licked his lips and turned slowly. Sherlock started to slowly loosen the strings. 

While he was working, Sherlock occasionally pressed small kisses upon John's shoulders. He lightly rubbed his finger pads across John’s gunshot wound. It was still slightly pink in the center, white spindles branching off the bullseye. “May I?” He asked John. Keeping his head forward, John nodded. “I can’t really feel most of it anymore. Most of the nerves are dead. There are a few that are frayed that can cause a tingle of pain, but not many.” Sherlock moved his fingers around the entire scar. Each finger following the trail of scar tissue into the middle. He placed a soft kiss to that bullseye, silently thanking whichever god had brought John home to London. 

“My turn for a question then?” John asks sheepishly. “When is your guest arriving?”

“What? Oh yes! Right!” Sherlock said with a slightly nervous edge. He kissed John’s shoulder over and over. “That was for you. Had things gone the way I hoped.” 

“What do you mean ‘the way you hoped?’ Hoped how?”

“I thought that would have been fairly obvious by now John.”

“Explain it to me.” He replied. Sherlock’s hands came around John’s waist squeezing the bottom of the busk open and then the top. Sliding down John’s chest, touching before seeing. He was softer than he must have been during his time at war, but the definition was still there; plateaus and valleys of muscle. John leans back into Sherlock’s chest. “What do you mean Sherlock? Please tell me.” 

Sherlock kissed the top of John’s head. Resting his check into it. “It means that I have wanted you all along John. From the moment you stepped in the flat for the first time. Here to clean on my brother’s behest. I honestly felt like he had brought me treasure, with a cleaning bonus. I tried to be professional for the first few weeks. But when you said you could speak French, I could not handle it anymore. Then you so readily accepted my proposition... I was hoping that one-day things would fall into place but they never did. So, today I decided to take matters into my own hands. After all John, I hate waiting.”

John turned around on him, one leg on the bed the other hanging off the side. “Oh my God. Sherlock Holmes did you really suck face with a vacuum in an attempt to get into my pants?! What was your next plan had that not worked?! Drink the washing up soap??”

“No. I knew it would work.” he said smiling. “No, you didn’t.” John chuckled. 

“You were a doctor. You have a Hippocratic oath to heal. You would have helped. Then it was the sheer force of desire.” 

“At least your lips still work,” replied John. “John, I took every factor possible into account. It was highly controlled. I never would have gotten hurt. Plus, I knew you would be there to help.” 

“Yeah yeah,” John said leaning forward against Sherlock until he fell back on the bed. Snogging him senseless. 

Breaking the kiss, Sherlock asked, “Dinner?” 

“Starving.” John said, kissing him once more. SIGNPOST: THIS IS THE START OF YOUR NEW LIFE. CONGRATULATIONS.

Inspiration images:

[ ](https://nwhit.smugmug.com/Writing-to-reach-you/n-xMhhVc/i-3bsL64T/A)

[ ](https://nwhit.smugmug.com/Writing-to-reach-you/n-xMhhVc/i-9SqThXK/A)

[ ](https://nwhit.smugmug.com/Writing-to-reach-you/n-xMhhVc/i-XSFWWS4/A)

[ ](https://nwhit.smugmug.com/Writing-to-reach-you/n-xMhhVc/i-dZTF65r/A)

[ ](https://nwhit.smugmug.com/Writing-to-reach-you/n-xMhhVc/i-SCCpzCb/A)


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